


Your Angel Wings Could Save Us Both

by vaughnicus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, Tattoos, Weddings, aw yeah, bottom!Dean, feelsy smut, hey look i fixed the shit ending, wedding hook ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaughnicus/pseuds/vaughnicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean hates weddings. He really, really does. </p><p>But they are good for one thing, and this one might turn out all right if he can take home that best man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Angel Wings Could Save Us Both

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyliejae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyliejae/gifts).



> A very, very late christmas/birthday/v-day/what have you fic for my dear Kylie. Blame her for this.
> 
> Ship on, love.
> 
> Oh, also, if there's interest I may write a sequel detailing more of the Sabriel arc. So. Drop me a line?

         

* * *

 

 

           Dean shifts awkwardly in his seat, stifling a yawn as the couple at the front of the chapel tearfully repeats their droning pastor. The last time he was this bored was in Mr. Derklin’s Pre-Calc class, and that had been, what, four years ago?

            Damn weddings.

            _Oh well,_ Dean mentally sighs. _At least the couple is hot._ The dress doesn't leave much to the imagination. _And so,_ he suddenly decides, _is the wedding party._

            Particularly the best man, who doesn’t look a day over 25.

            He’s tall, lightly tanned, and scruffy, with dark hair and a distinctly uncomfortable demeanor. Dean catches his wandering gaze and grins rather lecherously. The man flushes and turns back towards the couple.

            Dean covers his chuckle that turns to an affronted grunt when Sam shoves an elbow into his ribs.

            “Dean, pay attention.”

            “Why? We don’t even know these guys.”

            Sam shoots him a patent bitchface, brows drawing closely together. “Dad does. This is important to him. At least pretend to care.”

            Rolling his eyes, Dean leans back in his chair and folds his arms. But he does keep a straight face… for awhile.

            Until the best man finds him again while the couple is doing that unity candle thing, this time managing a tentative smile. Dean lifts both eyebrows and mouths ‘ _having fun?,’_ just barely refraining from laughing when the guy subtly shakes his head.

            Lacing his hands together in front of him, Dean returns ‘ _want to later?’_

He misses the reply due to Sam’s elbow accosting him again.

            “For God’s sake, Dean, don’t flirt with the wedding party _during the wedding._ Will you please get your brain off of your dick for five minutes?”

            “What’s got your panties in a twist, Sammy? Jealous?”

            He doesn’t get an answer for that. He counts it as a win.

                                                                                

* * *

 

 

            Twenty torturous minutes later, Dean is slouching by the desserts table in the reception hall. The wedding party has just returned from taking pictures, and Dean is waiting impatiently through the maid of honor’s speech to hear his elusive groomsman’s voice.

            But once the long-winded bride’s friend sits down, the Master of Ceremonies cuts in and announces the couple’s first dance. Dean frowns and checks the front table again. The best man is definitely there, grinning at the groom as he steps towards the dance floor. Why didn’t he make a speech?

            Huffing a sigh, Dean ambles back to his seat by Sam’s side. His brother glances at him through his shaggy fringe and cocks his head.

            “What’s up?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You’re… off.” He squints, lips pursed.

            “Bro, you look like a confused puppy. Don’t think too hard and hurt yourself.” He starts to walk off again.

            “Where are  you going?”

            “Dude,” Dean scoffs . “Food.”

            He saunters off to the side of the hall again and stays there, leaning casually against the wall through all the traditional dances, until the wedding party is finally told to open the refreshments table. With an impish grin, Dean moves closer to the bar.

            The party moves slowly through the food line, laughing and talking amongst one another. Dean spots the best man standing near a flirtatious younger bridesmaid, clearly faking a smile as he tries to get away. Dean decides he obviously needs rescuing and strides over, ending up right next to his chosen dude in distress and slipping an arm around his waist. He feels the man stiffen and smirks, but the effect is a bit skewed by the sudden rush of heat he feels at the shifting of muscles under his hand.

            “Hey, sweetie. You gonna join me or have you promised to stay by the couple’s side all day?”

            The girl’s jaw drops. Her gaze darts between the two of them before she mutters something about dancing and runs off. The man turns to Dean and he definitely does _not_ have to catch his breath as a strikingly blue pair of eyes meets his.

            “Thank you… for that.”

            Holy _mother_ , that much baritone can’t be natural.

            “Yeah, no problem.” Under pain of death, Dean might admit he was impressed at how steady his voice came out. “You looked like you could use an escape. You don’t strike me as the type to just reject someone and get it over with.” He accompanies the statement with a wink to ease the needling.

            “That’s true. I was isolated for awhile and, well…. My people skills are rusty, to say the least.”

            Dean chuckles. “I’m assuming that’s why you didn’t give a speech? You are the best man, after all.”

            “That would be why.”

            Dean sticks a hand out. “Dean Winchester.”

            “Dean.” The man takes it and give it a strong shake, his palm warm and calloused, if a bit sweaty. “I’m Castiel.”

            “Castiel? The hell kinda name is that?”

            He flushes a bit. “My parents were… eccentric.”

            “I can relate,” Dean assures. “Well, Cas,” – the man blinks in surprise at the quickly-appointed nickname before bashfully smiling – “don’t know about you, but I could use some champagne.”

            “That sounds good, yes.”

            Dean leads them over to the bar and grabs two glasses, getting them both filled before handing one to Cas.

            “So how do you know this guy?”

            Cas blinks at him owlishly, the innocent effect magnified by his windblown hair. It takes a moment for Dean’s meaning to register.

            “Oh, Michael? The groom? We, uh, we were together. In college. Broke it off when he decided he wasn’t gay after all, but… we stayed close.”

            Dean allows a fraction of his pleasure at the news to show. “Sucks for him, huh?”

            Cas does that blinking thing again that Dean’s already growing pretty fond of. Taking a calculated risk, Dean grabs Castiel’s drink from him and sets it on the table, taking the man’s arm instead.

            “C’mon. Let’s dance.”

            “I – what – no, I –“

            “Live a little!”

            Dean all but drags Castiel towards the dance floor. He passes the table Sam is still hunched over at (John has most likely gone off to talk to the groom, an allegedly close business associate), and spies another boy seated with him, holding out a sucker with a smirk that’s nothing less than lascivious. Dean grins widely and winks, relishing in the bright blush that spreads across Sam’s cheeks.

            “Who are they?” Castiel has stopped next to him, and is following his gaze to the two teens.

            “Well, the one who’s blushing like the virgin he isn’t is my brother. And the other… is hopefully the reason he’ll be needing to stay somewhere else tonight.” He flicks a mischievous glance Cas’ way. “Well. The _other_ reason.”

            Without another word, he finishes their journey to the dance floor and pulls Cas closer, sticking to the edges of the crowd and swaying his hips to the rhythm.

            “Dean,” Cas pleads. “I really don’t dance.”

            “Everyone dances! You just – move!”

            “I can’t-“

            “No, Cas, _move!_ ”

            Dean grabs the other man around the waist and pulls them both to the side just as a rogue champagne spray showers the floor where Cas would have been. There is a brief silence in the nearby vicinity before a small crowd begins to laugh and applaud. Dean belatedly realizes he’d pulled Castiel in by way of a rather theatrical spin, and the man is now trapped tightly in his arms. Heat rises to his cheeks, and, irked, he wills it away, throwing a toothy smile to their spectators.

            There are a few more giggles before they’re again ignored.

            “Well,” Cas breathes, close against his ear. “That was dramatic.”

            “Hey, man, don’t mock me. I just saved your life.”

            “I believe you saved my hair _._ ”

            “Too bad,” Dean laments. “I would’ve liked to help you clean it.”

            Caught up as they are in their banter, Castiel doesn’t seem to notice them begin moving in a rhythmic pattern.

            “If you’re desperate, I could find another bottle to stand by.”

            Dean laughs, feeling something in his chest opening. “Y’know, I think I’ll find other ways to get by.”

            They’re a little further onto the floor now, and Cas finally registers the pattern they’re moving in. He immediately stumbles, but Dean grips him a little tighter and keeps them going.

            “Just let me lead.”

            “Right.” Cas presses closer, head bent to watch their feet, and his hair brushes against Dean’s cheek.

            “Relax, man,” Dean insists, dropping his hand to curl around his partner’s waist. “Feel the beat.” He waits a measure. “And stop looking at your feet, will you?”        

            Cas’ head snaps up, his unnervingly searching eyes finding Dean’s. “Sorry. Like I said… people skills. Those include relaxing. And dancing. And –“

            Dean decides the best way to stop Castiel’s lips from producing sound is to cover them with his own.

            It works pretty well, actually.

            Cas, at first taken aback, freezes where he is. But Dean is insistent, his touch warm and firm, and the groomsman finds himself melting into this practical stranger’s touch, hands tight against his back and mouth working.

            Dean pulls away after a short minute, smirking softly. “That’s better.”

            They finish the song and leave the dance floor, Dean leading them back to the table. Sam is still there, and so is the other boy, thought they’re quite a bit closer now than they were last time Dean checked. The other boy’s pressed flush against Sam, who’s red and stammering.

            Dean throws himself into a chair across from his brother, who grows impossibly redder when he sees him.

            “Dean!” His voice comes out a good bit higher than normal. “Hi!”

            “Sammy.” He grins suggestively. “Who’s this?” Castiel is still loitering beside him, and Dean tugs on his wrist to get him to sit down.

            “Um, this is, uh, Gabriel. He’s Anna’s cousin.”

            “Anna?”

            “The _bride_ , Dean.”

            “Ah. Right.” Dean nods, then gestures next to him. “This is Cas. Cas, Sam, nerdy emo bitch.”

            “Jerk.”

            Gabriel smirks lazily, assessing Dean as he finally pulls away from Sam. “Nice to meet ya.”

            “And you,” Dean returns, eyes narrowed. Sam groans quietly. “So what do you do, Gabriel?”

            “He just graduated, like me. Applied for Stanford, too, for their theater program.”

            “So you’re an actor, then?” Gabriel nods and Dean grins. “You wanna be the next Dr. Sexy?”

            Gabriel laughs, absently pulling the wrapper off a candy from the centerpiece. “I’m aiming a bit higher than that.”

            “Well, let it never be said that my brother didn’t like ambition.” With that, Dean turns to Castiel. “So, when can we get out of here?”

            “Anna and Michael are meant to leave by five. I’ll be expected to stay and help clear the hall and chapel.”

            “So, we talkin’ around six, six-thirty?”

            “I believe so, yes.” Cas nods solemnly, causing Dean to quirk a smile.

            “Dude, lighten up. It’s a wedding, not a funeral. _So,_ Sammy, how ‘bout I take you and Gabe home so I can get back here on time, hm?”

            “Oh! I, um, we-“

            “Sounds great,” Gabe intercedes.

            “Does it, Sam?” Dean’s steely gaze locks on his brother’s face. It’s bright and embarrassed, but softly delighted.

            “Yeah, it does.”

            “All right, then!” Dean stands, clapping Cas on the shoulder. “I’ll be back for you.”

            It sounds more serious than he intended. But Castiel only meets his gaze and nods, eyes full of something Dean can’t (won’t) define.

            “I’ll be waiting.”

 

* * *

                                                

            As promised, Dean returns a couple hours later, sweeping through the building’s entrance at 6:15. The banquet hall they’d been in earlier is empty, clean, and quiet, and at the sight of it abandoned, Dean feels something in his chest tighten.

             No one’s there.

            He turns away, gaze sweeping through the nearby halls even as he heads back to the door. Really, he should’ve expected as much. He’d just met the guy this morning, and he doesn’t seem the type for one-night stands.

            Dean refuses to acknowledge the traitorous corner of his mind that insists _he_ isn’t the type for that, either. Or at least, he doesn’t want to be. That same corner is wishing Castiel hadn’t disappeared, because he just might’ve thought that the best man could have been the one to pull him from his darkness; save him from the rut he’s been in since high school.

            But really, that’s nothing less than ludicrous. God, what’s turned him into such a preteen?

            With an angry shake of the head, Dean grips the door handle. It was stupid for him to even come back. He should’ve never approached the man. Especially not when he _knew_ , from first glance, that he was different.

            Dean doesn’t do emotions well. He runs from them. It’s a good technique that’s worked so far. What possessed him to think he could change things?

            The door is opening into the cool evening air when a hand drops onto Dean’s shoulder. He spins around, knocking the limb off of him and tensing. The fight drains out of him so fast it leaves him dizzy when he sees who’s approached him.

            Castiel looks taken aback by the violent response. He shifts on his feet, smiling apologetically.

            “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

            Dean shrugs him off. “Didn’t think you were still here.”

            “Um, yes. My apologies about that, as well. They insisted we go back to the chapel for a last group picture. I couldn’t really decline.”

            “No worries.” Dean slips his hands into his pockets, suddenly awkward and silently irritated about it. What is with him today? “So, shall we…?”

            Castiel nods, snatching a tan trench coat that’s hanging near the door before preceding Dean out of it. He slips it on as they head to the car and Dean raises both eyebrows. Cas catches the look and cocks his head.

            “Is there a problem?”

            “No, no. It’s just… you’re pretty unorthodox.”

            “I’m currently unaffiliated with any specific church group,” Cas says, brow furrowed, and god _damn it_ the man’s voice is practically a fucking _growl._ Even when he’s being clueless.

            Dean laughs out loud even while his heart pounds in a strangely erratic way. “I mean the coat, Cas. You’ve got like a ‘holy tax accountant’ vibe goin’ on.”

            Castiel doesn’t seem to know how to reply to this, merely staring, causing Dean to shake his head and smile fondly.

            “You’re somethin’ else,” comes the muttered statement. Then, more loudly, “where the hell did I park? Just got here; you’d think I could remember…. Ah! There she is.”

            The Impala gleams proudly under a nearby streetlight, waiting patiently for her cargo to return. Dean grins as he lopes towards her, stopping at the front and patting the hood.     

            “This is yours?” Cas queries, standing by the passenger door and examining the car’s length. “It’s… very appealing.”

            “She,” Dean corrects, unlocking the door. “ _She_ is very appealing. And thank you.” He slides inside.

            Cas is soon to follow, and within minutes they’re on the road, car purring beneath them.

            “Is it just you and Sam?” The question comes out of the silence, genuinely curious.

            “Nah, we’ve got our dad,” Dean replies, eyes stuck to the dim road in front of them (he’d glance to Cas now and again if he didn’t know he wouldn’t be able to look away from the man). “He’s the reason we were at the wedding, actually. But I saw him chatting up a blonde during the reception and his truck is gone, so.”

            “He has a different car? But you still came with him?”

            “Yeah. He hates weddings and mentioned this one to us. Said he had to come since it was his superior or friend or whatever and soft-hearted Sammy just _had_ to volunteer us to come with him.”

            Cas _hmm_ s. “I suppose the ceremonies can be tedious.” He pauses. “So… where are we going?”

            “Oh, back to Sam’s and my apartment. I get priority. Y’know, privileges of a first-born.” He grins toothily. “Sam’s back at Dad’s. The house is so big that even if Dad comes home tonight he probably won’t know Sam’s there until the morning. Their rooms are in separate wings.

            “Anyway… how ‘bout you, Cas? Got any family?”

            “A half-brother. Balthazar.”

            Dean snorts. “Eccentric parents – you weren’t kidding. So where is this _Balthazar_? You two livin’ together?”

            “No, he’s been in England for the past few years. He’s older than me. Works as some sort of intelligence agent.”

            “Dude! Your brother’s a spy?!”

            “He wants everyone to think he is, anyway… I’m not convinced.”

            They’re pulling up to a tall apartment complex on the edge of town now. Cas lifts a brow as they pass under an arch that bears the location’s name.

            “Salvation Flats? You don’t do so badly, then.”

            “Um, yeah…” Dean coughs. “Dad’s done really well with his company and he’s giving Sam ‘n I an allowance until we get on our feet. I’ve got a job down at the mechanic’s – specializing in the classics, you know? And Sam’s got an interview for some record-keeping spot at the county library, the geek. He’s going to college for Law and then he’ll probably come back to work for dad’s company. Stanford hasn’t written back yet, but I know they’ll eat him up. So…” He falters, realizing at once how much he’s spilled to someone he’s just met. “We do all right between the three of us.” He focuses very intently on parking.

            “Yes… it looks that way.” Cas half-smiles. “You and Sam seem very close.”

            Immediately, Dean warms. “Yeah. Dad’s away on business a lot, so I kinda brought the kid up. We’ve always stuck together.” He says this as they’re getting out of the car.

            Castiel rounds the trunk and they walk to the doors together.

            “But enough about that. Talking about my family is _not_ how I want to spend the night.”

            He swiftly buzzes them in and leads Cas to the elevator. It opens and they slide inside, Dean selecting the top floor and turning to trap Castiel against the bar. The dark-haired man pulls back, taken by surprise. But his gaze soon heats as Dean leans closer and lowers his voice to a husky drawl.

            “So, Cas, how do you like it? Slow…” Dean’s hand floats along Cas’ neck, curling to thread through his hair. “Fast…” He pushes even closer, grinding their hips together. Their lips are a hair’s breadth away. “Somewhere…” He bridges the gap betwixt them and presses their mouths together, closed but firm. After a weightless moment, he pulls away. “… in between?”

            Before Cas can form any kind of reply, the elevator dings and Dean leads him out by the hand. They make their way to the end of the hall, stopping in front of the last door. Dean quickly unlocks it and pulls Cas inside, shutting the door behind them.

            “Can I get you anything?”

            Dean heads into the kitchen area, releasing Cas but keeping his gaze on him. “I’ve got beer, pop, some vegetable juice shit that Sam buys…”

            “Water is fine, thank you.”

            Dean pulls two glasses from the cupboard and turns on the tap, deciding to forego alcohol for the night since his partner is.

            “So, Cas,” he says, sauntering back to the counter and setting the glasses between them. “Tell me more about yourself.”

            This is the weirdest night Dean’s had in awhile, and he’s being far from smooth. But Cas doesn’t seem to notice or mind, and Dean can’t say he isn’t enjoying himself, despite having done nothing yet.

            “Well. Um.” Cas shifts, taking a sip of water. “I’m 23.” Dean silently cheers. “I was in college for a year as a History major before deciding to move to Africa for a year.”

            Nodding, Dean begins to unbutton his jacket. “Humanitarian then, eh?”

            “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Cas coughs, eyeing the expanse of Dean’s neck as he loosens his tie. “I just… believe I should do what I can, matter how little that may be.”

            Dean pauses in the middle of removing his shoes to stare at Cas. “That’s – that’s great, man.” His voice comes out raspy, and he clears his throat. “It really is.”

            There’s a quiet moment before Dean grins, clapping his hands together. “Now. We are way too dressed.”

            He stalks closer to Cas and grabs his tie, getting a hand in his hair before pressing their lips together. Cas pushes into the kiss enthusiastically and for a moment Dean is frozen. Cas is warm and yielding beneath his hands, he can feel his pulse rocketing incessantly beneath his skin, and for the first time in his life, Dean is struck breathless.

            Then Cas is pulling his tie off and he’s slammed back into motion. He reaches for the pearly white buttons on the other man’s sky blue shirt, expertly slipping them open and huffing in frustration at the undershirt beneath. He’s never wanted to feel anyone’s skin so badly before. His determination means he’s quick to strip off the jacket and shirt and untuck the white material that’s blocking him from his goal.

            By now Cas has tossed away Dean’s tie and shirt, having had a head start. He takes a moment to drink in what he’s uncovered, tracing the sharp lines of Dean’s clavicles with a gentle, curious hand. The touch roves from there to his chest, down across his abdomen, and to his waistband. There it hesitates, playing over cloth and skin.      

            Dean finally tugs the undershirt off and chucks it onto the table. He takes his own appreciative pause, running eager hands over Cas’ firm torso. He follows the trails of goose bumps his touch leaves with his lips, mouthing along Cas’ collarbones and down his chest.

            It’s when he’s on his knees, hands at Cas’ fly, looking up mischievously, that he sees them. Two dark spots peeking over both shoulders, pointed and hinting at something much more. Dean pulls back, eyes wide.

            “Cas,” he breathes. “Are you _inked?_ ”

            Cheeks flushing prettily, Cas shuffles, unconsciously rubbing at a shoulder.

            “Oh. Yes. It was done some time ago, I-“

            Dean doesn’t let him finish, standing and pulling Cas around so as to view his muscled back. He feels his jaw drop once the man’s turned and doesn’t bother to shut it, bringing a hand up to hover near the intricately detailed ash gray wings that span from shoulders to mid-back. They curve up near the base of Cas’ neck and almost around his ribs. The art is such that they look to be lifting; stretching out in preparation for flight and lit from behind, as though they are to be given life through the burning of Cas’ soul.

            “Dean?”

            The rumbled, nervous query snaps Dean out of his reverie (and that’s twice now he’s been thrown into oblivion and snatched back by this guy what the _hell_ ) and he realizes he’s just been standing there a little too long.

            “Sorry, Cas, got – um. I. It’s beautiful, man. I love it.”

            “Really?” It’s surprising how surprised Cas sounds as he turns back around. “I know it’s a little cliché.”

            “No, it’s not. I’ve never seen anything like it. Why – why did you get it?”

            Cas is aware that this is not Dean being skeptical or accommodating – he’s genuinely intrigued. Something warmer than even the arousal in his abdomen starts nestling into his chest, and he half smiles.

            “It was a few years ago after my mother died. She always told us that we become angels when we get to Heaven. When she… passed, I – I wanted to join her, for awhile. But I knew she wouldn’t want that. So I got this, as my way of promising to do her good, and be as much of an angel as I can here until I meet her again.”

            Throughout his explanation he’s been staring down at his twisting hands. Now he looks up as Dean takes said hands in his own, and sees the other man looking at him with something that could almost be called tenderness.

            “She’d be proud,” he says, quietly and firmly.

            “I…” But Cas can think of nothing to say to this man who has all of a sudden become all too important.

            They’re both relieved from the burden of speech when Dean pulls Cas in again and kisses him.

            It isn’t Dean’s normal pre-coital kiss, hungry and violent. But then, nothing about this evening has been normal.

            It’s gentle, slow and full of longing. It’s searching and it’s full of questions and a burning need that is so strong they both pull away, blinking.

            There’s a moment when their gazes meet unbroken and an entire silent exchange flies through the air.

            And then Cas moves, backing Dean up against the counter. There’s a new fire in his eyes.

            He leans in and says lowly to Dean’s ear, casually as if he’s stating the weather and not the hottest thing Dean has ever heard in his life, “I should very much like to fuck you.”

            Dean almost chokes on his own tongue.

            A second later, they’re headed for the bedroom, knocking into the walls as they kiss much more heatedly and tripping over their slacks as they kick them off. Dean slams open his bedroom door and rips backward, falling onto the bed when Cas gives him a shove.

            Gone is the stuttering best man from the wedding. He’s been replaced by an aggressive sex god and Dean would almost be worried if it wasn’t so hot.

            Because _fuck_ , he’s never been this turned on in his _life._

            Cas climbs on top of Dean, hooking both hands in the lower man’s underwear and pulling. He dips his hips to allow Dean access to his own and soon they’re both completely bared, drinking each other in.

            “You’re gorgeous,” Dean confesses, trailing a hand down Cas’ back, tracing the wings he now knows are there.

            “I could say the same of you,” Cas returns, his words still bafflingly bashful even as he grinds shamelessly onto Dean.

            The friction is blessed and hot, but it isn’t long before Cas is pulling his lips away from Dean’s collarbone long enough to say, “we’re eventually going to require lubrication.”

            Dean doesn’t even bother trying to suppress his laughter as he opens his bedside drawer and gropes blindly in its depths. He emerges triumphant a short time later, bottle and condom in hand that he hands to Cas. The man stares at the objects for a moment.

            “I had myself tested for sexually transmitted diseases very recently and haven’t slept with anyone in six months.” He turns a questioning gaze on Dean, who raises both hands.

            “Hey, I’m clean, man.”

            After a moment, the condom is tossed onto the floor.

            Cas wastes no more time opening the lube and spreading it over the fingers of one hand. Dean has already got his legs around Cas’ waist, but he still pauses a moment.

            “Are you all right this way?”

            “Better than all right.”

            Castiel smiles at that. And then he’s circling Dean’s entrance and then he’s _inside_ it and it’s a lot harder to think straight.

            He’s staring into those fiercely blue eyes (and that’s another thing he never does but he’s already written this whole night off as Unorthodox) as they move together, heat building between them even now. Cas slips another finger in and Dean gasps, wondering why it’s never felt this way before and hoping to God this isn’t a onetime deal.

            And now Dean’s wet and burning and desperate and Cas is taking his damn time about things.

            “Let’s get going, huh?”

            Cas blinks at him, just adding a third finger. “Are you sure?”

            “Yeah. Yeah, come on.”

            Nodding, Castiel pulls his hand away. He reopens the lube and coats himself, stroking his slender but long length a couple of times before pressing close again.

            He keeps their eye contact as he slides in, and Dean thinks it’s approaching ridiculous but also knows this is the most intimate he’s even been with anybody. Ever.

            Most of his… encounters are just that. Flings, one night stands, chance meetings… encounters. Not _this._ Whatever the hell this is. This wedding hook up gone intense. This gentle kissing and talking and maintaining eye contact…

            A burst of light sparks across Dean’s vision and he arches up into Cas, crying out. Above him, the other man chuckles breathlessly. He shifts only slightly before thrusting in again at the same spot. Dean’s nails dig into his shoulders.

            Caught with his prick between their torsos and Cas pounding into him from below, Dean feels himself coming apart all too soon.

            “Cas…” he gasps, and he can hear the note of apology in his voice.

            But Cas only pulls him impossibly closer, cupping his jaw and saying, “it’s all right. Come for me, Dean.”

            “ _God._ ”

            That’s all it takes. Then heat is exploding from his abdomen and spiraling throughout the rest of him, his hands gripping and his jaw locking around a deep moan as he release covers both their chests.

            Cas isn’t long to follow. He manages only a few more thrusts before pulling tight as a bowstring and locking their lips forcibly together while he spills over.

 

* * *

 

 

            They’re limp together in the aftermath a solid few minutes, breathing and swimming through the remnants of pleasure. Cas finally manages to pulls himself out and off of Dean, rolling to the side. It takes another minute or so for Dean to force himself onto wobbly legs to fetch a towel from the bathroom. He uses it to clean them both up and tosses it to the side, then grabs the small remote on his bedside table and switches his radio on to play softly.

            When he lays back down, Cas shuffles up to him and slings an arm over Dean’s chest, surprising him but in a very pleasant way. Cas must feel his momentary stiffness, though, because he starts to move away.

            “Sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-“

            “No, it’s fine.” Dean takes his hand and guides it back to where it had been, and oh, this is different and he can feel something shifting into place around them and Castiel is just staring at him with a wide open gaze and

           “Please. Stay.” (Not just until morning). 

            And remarkably, he does.

 

 


End file.
